Night's Eyes
by autumn145
Summary: Ten years ago, a car crash in London killed Silvia and Richard Bouvier, and their son, Adam. However, much to the curiousity of the residents of Craven street, their sixteen year old daughter not only survived, but came out of it virtually unharmed.R
1. 275 Craven Street

**This story is original; completely mine. Nobody else's. Mine, mine, mine. Just thought I'd remind everyone. I've been reading a lot of Anne Rice lately, and I must say, I am intrigued by vampires as of late. So I came up with this. This is just an opening chapter to explain certain things, and I'll update very soon. Please review…I enjoy feedback. Thanks!**

**-Autumn**

_**NIGHT'S EYES**_

The wind was picking up outside, the branches of trees banging against the windows, the swings in the park across the street creaking eerily, and the rush of air that managed to come in through the cracks of the doors sounding like the faint whispers of ghosts.

Leaves were scattered over the front yard of 275 Craven Street, but though the neighbors did not care for this, they kept their mouths shut. An elegant family used to live there, the Bouvier's, an astonishingly handsome husband and wife and two attractive children. Ten years ago, though, they had been involved in a fatal car crash, their sixteen year old daughter the only survivor.

She had returned to the house, much to the curiosity of the neighbors, alone. The newspapers said it had been a miracle she had survived, that she had been found a hundred feet from the burnt wreckage, nearly unharmed. The door that had been hers had been closed, and locked. No one knew how she had made it, and she had refused to speak of it to interviewers.

Since then, no one ever saw her coming or going from the once decadent building, one of the largest homes on the street. Patricia Goodfine, whom lived nearly directly across from 275, had tried to speak to the girl at first, having known her mother, Silvia, rather well. For three years, she had knocked and knocked on the elegant double doors of the mansion, worried that the beautiful girl would do something rash. She knew she had never been a rebel, and had, indeed, had a very close relationship with her family.

Patricia left baskets of baked goods and invitations on the doorstep, left letters of sympathy and understanding, even birthday cards and candy and flowers in the mail box. After years of no response, she had given up, though she still left cards on the holidays.

Desperate for some sign of life, she had even tried sneaking glances through the large windows, only to find that thick, black curtains had been hung up over every single one in the house. Defeated, she decided that should the young woman want her company, she would be waiting, and until then give the girl her space.

Other residents of Craven Street also had a piqued interest in her whereabouts during the day…did she not work? She never had any visitors…did she not have any friends, did she not have a young man? Laura Lewinski often discussed it…with whomever she could get to listen.

"Such a lazy girl," she said to old Mrs. Templeton. "Living off of her parent's life insurance, no doubt,"

Laura was a tall, pointy woman, with pale blonde hair and small, gooseberry eyes. She had a rather large nose that was often pointing straight up in the air. She lived with her graying, weary-looking husband and fat twin boys for whom she doted upon and pampered nonstop.

She was the gossip of the neighborhood, and she had an appetite for scandal and rumors should they reach her ears. The other women of Craven Street often went to her when bored, to listen to her rip apart anyone who wasn't present.

Today, Patricia and Mary Templeton, an old widow, sat on the back porch of Laura's spacious home and politely sipping the tea she had provided. There was also a tray of pastries and biscuits, but Patricia knew better than to touch them, unless she wanted a new tale about her 'eating problem' going around.

Patricia took a delicate sip of her fragrant, yellow chamomile tea. "I'm sure she's just a private person," she said.

Laura narrowed her eyes. "That's exactly what is so suspicious, Patricia, dear," she helped herself to a biscotti.

"What, wanting her privacy from all her nosy neighbors?"

"Exactly!" Laura exclaimed. "Why such privacy? What has she got to hide?"

"Poor dears been alone since she was sixteen," Mrs. Templeton said, clearing her throat. "I remember what a beautiful child she was. She looked just like her mother. And she was so well behaved. So polite and not to mention rather bright,"

"Did she ever finish school?" Laura asked, looking at Patricia, who avoided her gaze and took another sip of her tea.

"I don't know, exactly," she said. "I mean, she's the same age as Bridget; Silvia and I were pregnant at the same time," she paused. "I always droved Bridget to school, I would have seen her in the mornings. I never did,"

Laura gave a snort. "So she's a drop out,"

"She might've just taken courses online," Patricia said. "Nowadays kids can talk to their teachers online and email work and take timed tests, all on the computer," she smiled smugly at Laura's disappointed scowl. "The technology they have today really is astounding,"

"What about food shopping? Groceries? She never leaves that house, and it's always so dark. Even if she completed school work on that foul contraption, it's not like she can pull food out of the telephone jack,"

"She could've had her groceries delivered," Mrs. Templeton said. "I've done that. It's quite useful, actually."

A muscle twitched in Laura's jaw. "I've never seen anything delivered there, with the exceptions of all those charity baskets Patricia leaves her," she paused and a smirk formed on her thin, pale lips. "Such rudeness. Not even a thank you note, darling?"

Patricia shrugged. "It doesn't matter. You know, Silvia made me her godmother. She probably doesn't want me trying to take the place of her mother, which I'll admit, is what I set about doing after it all had happened. She and Bridget used to be good friends as well, growing up something akin to cousins. It's probably painful for her. I really don't blame her."

"I think that car crash addled her brain," Laura said. "Why any girl would recluse herself from her friends and family after such a tragedy, I simply can't fathom. Most girls would go running to any open arms for comfort. But she," she glanced suspiciously at the Bouvier house. "She became nothing short of a hermit. It's not natural. No, not at all. It's almost as if…No, I shouldn't say something like that." She finished, with a tone that told the other two women that she did, in fact, want to say it and that they only need ask.

Patricia's curiosity got the best of her. "Please, Laura, go on,"

Laura leaned forward conspiratorially on her elbow, beckoning the other two to lean closer to her, as if she were about to divulge a delicious secret.

"I think," she began in a stage whisper. "That she's locked herself up out of _guilt._"

"What do you mean, Laurie, dear?" Mrs. Templeton asked.

Laura looked around, as if to make sure no one else could hear her.

"What I mean is, why wasn't she in the car? And how did she get out of it that fast, and without more than a few scratches? There's something not right about it," she paused. "I think there's something we don't know about that's eating away at the girl, even ten years later."

Patricia's hands flew to her mouth. "How can you even suggest such a thing?" she whispered, her hands shaking. She stood up slowly, and gathered her purse to her. She looked down and Laura, who had her bony hands folded neatly on the small, round table. "To say that girl is somehow responsible for her family's death!" she exclaimed quietly.

Laura shrugged nonchalantly as she picket up a scone and spread some jam on it. "I'm only pointing out the obvious,"

"Laurie, dear, I think that's a bit harsh to say about-" Mrs. Templeton began.

Laura narrowed her eyes at both of them. She set down her butter knife with a loud 'clink!' and the muscle in her jaw twitched again. She pointed her finger at them.

"The two of you only defend her because of Silvia! Because you thought you knew her! Well, Patricia, I don't know what exactly you think, but it's as if you think she is Silvia, the way you talk about the girl sometimes, when you haven't seen her for nearly a decade! She is certainly not her mother! For how it all seems, she could be her mother's murderer!"

Patricia gave a dignified snort and turned on her heel. "Thank you for the tea, Laura, goodbye, Mrs. Templeton." She muttered, and let herself out.

Walking back to her house, Patricia looked up at the sky and pulled her blue cardigan closed. It was chilly, and the afternoon sky was overcast with thick, heavy gray clouds. It looked as though it was going to rain.

Unable to keep her eyes away from it, she looked up at that house. The grass had died long ago, and in it's place weeds were sticking up, some nearly four feet tall. She looked at the dried up flower beds, remembering the lush roses that had once grown there. She remembers the tulips and dragon snaps, and all the colorful poppies that had been Silvia's second pride and joy, apart from her children.

She stepped off the curb and, looking both ways, made her way across the street. She nearly tripped as her heel got stuck in a hole in the grass. She looked around the old park, tears threatening her eyes. She remembered the warm summer days when she and Silvia had both been pregnant and barely twenty, eating popsicles and endless amounts of chocolate, sitting on the swings, trying to think of baby names.

_**::FLASHBACK::**_

_Silvia's bouncy brown hair blew in the wind and her silver eyes looked up at the branches of the willow tree as she swung, a lollipop in her mouth. _

_"What if it's a boy?" she muttered as she pulled the candy from her mouth with a 'pop!', and looked over at Patricia, who was devouring a chocolate bar. _

_"What do you mean?" she asked her best friend. Silvia dragged her bare feet in the sand, bringing the swing to a halt. _

_"What if I have a boy?" she asked, looking down at her stomach. _

_"Then I guess you'll have a boy." Patricia answered._

_"No!"_

_"What?"_

_"I don't think I could raise a boy, Trish. I'm just too…girly." She said, and Patricia laughed, which got her a lollipop stick thrown at her, which stuck to her hair. _

_"Oh, ick, Sill," she groaned, pulling the sticky stick out of her red strands. "That's disgusting," _

_"What would I name a boy?" Silvia asked, ignoring her friend's comment._

_"James," Patricia replied. "Jimmy."_

_Silvia smiled. "I like that,"_

_"I thought you would."_

_"So…you don't think I'll make him gay or anything?"_

_"Not if you don't dress him in pink,"_

_"But I love pink!" Silvia demanded. _

_"Well, Richard might not approve of his son wearing pink," _

_"Screw Richard!" Silvia laughed. _

_"I believe you've already done as much," Patricia said, patting her friends round belly. "I don't think we'll have to worry about any boys in pink. I think you'll have a girl. I can just see you with a little pink baby girl."_

_"Yeah, Richie says the same. So does my mum," she laughed. "Mum nearly had a heart attack when I told her. 'Married for three months and you're already knocked up?' she said. 'How far along are you?' she asks. I had to work up the balls to tell her I was already five months."_

_Patricia laughed. "Oh, my mum was ecstatic. 'Oh, Trishie, love, anytime you need a break, Nanna and Poppy are here,' I was like, since when do I call you and dad Nanna and Poppy?" _

_"Yeah. Mine says she wants to be called grandmother. Not 'nanna', not 'grandma', not 'grams'. Just Grandmother. It sounds so bloody ominous."_

_"How is Ms. Bonnie, anyways?" _

_"Oh, same old, same old. She's on vacation in Germany right now, visiting my Uncle Maurice."_

_"Hmm." She looked at her friend. "So what if you have a girl?"_

_Silvia looked up at her in surprise._

_"What?"_

_"What if it's a girl? You know, a wee bonnie lass?"_

_"I got that much, but what do you mean, 'what if'?"_

_"What would you name her?"_

_Silvia bit her lip. "You know, I've been so busy worrying that it might be a boy, that I haven't really given any girl names much thought."_

_"Jasmine?"_

_"No."_

_"Rose?"_

_"No."_

_"Poppikens?"_

_Silvia looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. "What?"_

_Patricia shook her head. _

_"Annalise," Silvia said._

_"Hmm?"_

_"Annalise. That's the name."_

_"I love it."_

_"Yeah, me too."_


	2. Blood Lust

**I'm sorry it took me so long to update…I've been busy and on top of it Fan Fiction wasn't letting me upload this chapter. It took forever. I'm sorry ( **

**Anyways. On with the story. Please review and let me know what you think!!!**

**-Autumn**

Night's Eyes

Chapter two: Blood Lust

Loud music pulsed, and the air of the club was filled with laughter and the smell of alcohol and sweat. Her eyes drifted to behind the bar, and took in the lithe form of the bartender.

His shaggy brown hair fell into his pale, chiseled face, and she watched patiently as he flirted with a bubbly looking blonde in a low-cut red dress.

She stepped out from the darkness, where she had been quietly and unnoticeably observing the inhabitants of the alluring club, and bit down on her bottom lip. Men and women alike turned their heads to stare at her.

Dark, glossy ringlets cascaded down to her shoulders, a shocking contrast to her creamy white skin. Rouge lips and pale blue eyes framed by unnaturally thick, long lashes and black liner made her face envious to anyone who may have had both the blessing and terrible misfortune of seeing it.

Despite the girl's natural beauty, her outfit was, to anyone, shockingly alarming. A black satin corset with dark roses adorning it and silk lacing it up front and back, showed her pale, flat stomach, and her generous amount of milky cleavage. Low on her hips she work a skin tight leather mini skirt, with a studded belt. Chains hung from it, longer than the actual skirt. She wore ripped black fishnets and high heeled black leather boots. On her hands were leather biker gloves, the fingers cut off, her nails painted blood red.

Amateur strippers danced on a stage connected to the bar, black lights flaring, men drooling like the dogs that they were. She heard every breath, every heartbeat, every sip they took. Never keeping someone's gaze for more than five seconds, she stepped onto the stage as a new song came on.

Heavy metal flooded the club, the singer's voice as entrancing and darkly sensual as the woman who slowly raised her slender arms above her head and shook her head so her silky locks fell forward onto her face. She rolled her hips gently, and shimmied them quickly before dropping low.

As she came back up, she looked over her shoulder under hooded lids at the enticing bartender, holding his eyes with her own as she slowly ran her tongue over her lips.

The blonde woman who had been shamelessly flirting with him earlier was climbing the steps of the stage, and was wearing only lacy red panties and a matching bra. The jealously coming off of her was tangible; her brown eyes narrowed at the dark haired vixen, who avoided her gaze, and jumped gracefully at the pole, where she expertly spun around, earning her applause.

Ignoring all the men waving money and looking longingly at her, she spun around so fast her hair flew, silky tendrils landing in her pale face. Swaying her hips hypnotically, she strutted down to the bar. Her hips were level with the bartender's shoulders, and his wide brown eyes glazed over as he took in her form. She leaned down, and her lips were dangerously close to his. He smelled like expensive cologne, Jack Daniels, and desire. She ran her hands down his well muscled arms, teasingly. She gripped them suddenly, and leaned into him, her breasts pillowing into his chest, and whispered in his ear,

"Dance," then ran her tongue along the delicious curve of his ear. She slid down on the bar, and stepped down behind it, so that their bodies were touching, breast to breast, hip to hip, knee to knee. She bit down on her lip, careful not to show him too much too soon. Grabbing the collar of his black shirt, she pulled him slowly onto the dance floor, holding his lustful brown eyes with her own pale ones.

She placed his hands on her shapely hips and her own around his neck, and proceeded to grind her hips against his, moving in sync with the pounding beat of the music.

She could hear his heart rate picking up, his breathing becoming shallower by the minute.

Her long, pale fingers absentmindedly toyed with the hairs on the back of his neck, raking her long red nails down the smooth tan skin of his neck, causing it to erupt in goose bumps. His hands tightened on her hips, and she smiled slightly.

This was going to be easy.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Across the club, another pair of icy eyes watched the beautiful young woman dance in a most intimate way with the sandy haired stranger. Jealousy and amusement bubbled up inside of him, a foreign feeling to him.

Astoundingly attractive women surrounded him, their hands roaming over his body, under the table were hands creeping up the insides of his thighs. Young, tantalizing things, offering themselves to him wantonly. He could have his pick, any one of them, mayhap more.

Yet it was not their flesh, not the sweet scent of their perfume he ached for.

His drink sat untouched in front of him, yet it went unnoticed.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Come with me tonight," she whispered smoothly into his ear.

"I don't even know your name," came his husky reply against her hair.

"Names don't matter in this place, this time," she breathed, running her hands through his hair, which was damp with sweat from dancing for hours. "I want you, and I know you want me. Do you deny it?"

"Not at all," he said, pulling her closer. "Not at all."

"Let's leave," she said, pulling him towards the exit.

"I need to tell my boss I'm leaving," He said, his lovely brown eyes looking at her sympathetically.

"No you don't." she said, pulling him close again. "Please? I'll make it up to you,"

Grinning charmingly, he leaned down and brushed her lips softly with his own. "I'm sure you will," he murmured. "But I can't just walk out. I could lose my job,"

"Does it really matter at this point?" she muttered under her breath.

"What?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"We couldn't have that," she said. "Don't tell anyone you're going with me, though."

"I can't tell anyone what a beautiful woman I've got?" he teased.

She shook her head with fake embarrassment. "I'm sure you get beautiful girls all the time," she said. "I just don't like people knowing anything about my personal life. Could you please, please not mention anything about me?"

"Love, I couldn't tell them anything even if I wanted to. You've been refusing to tell me your name for hours," he said. "I'll be right back,"

She raised a perfectly shaped ebony eyebrow at his retreating form. Her own breathing was rapidly increasing with the excitement of what was about to come, adrenaline rushing through her veins. She stood in the midst of hundreds of dancing, sweat soaked bodies, waiting patiently for him to return. A quick glance at the clock across the way told her it was a quarter to three.

He returned moments later, a rosy flush on his naturally tan face. Smiling, she took his large, calloused hand in her own, leading him out of the hot, humid club.

"Your skin is so cold," he said as they stepped into the cool fall air. The heavy door closed with an audible click behind them, drowning out the music. "Maybe I can warm you up a bit," He wrapped his arms around her waist and she felt his warm lips on her neck, his tongue tracing circles on her skin. She sighed and arched her back into him.

"Over here," she breathed, pulling him into the dark alleyway behind the club.

"Oi," he said. "Tad bit dark over here, isn't it?"

"I like the dark," she said evenly, pulling him close so that they were face to face. "It's sexy, to feel you touching me, and not being able to see you."

"Mmm," he replied, pressing his lips against hers, pushing his velvety tongue into her mouth. His hands roamed over her body, exploring her. She had to do it soon, it was now or never. She broke the kiss, and spun them around so he was pressed against the hard brick wall of the club. She ran her hands through his soft, sandy hair, and inhaled his musky scent. Oh, God, it was intoxicating.

"I-" he began, but she pressed two fingers to his soft, swollen lips.

"Shhh," she breathed. "No talking."

She listened intently, and only heard the people inside the noisy club, and drunken teenagers making a racket blocks away. She heard the cars rushing up and down the streets, and the rats in the sewers below the city. Nothing out of the ordinary.

She tenderly kissed his lips, and kissed a line down his strong jaw. She ran her tongue along her ear, earning her a low moan from deep within his throat.

"Do you have any idea how delicious you are?" she whispered. She began to kiss his neck, slowly, teasingly. She traced the smooth skin until she found it. The spot where she could feel his pulse going at a rapid pace. She suckled at the spot, and with another groan, he relaxed against the wall, his hands holding onto her waist lightly.

She pulled back for just a moment, and gave one last, light closed mouth kiss to that spot, and opened her mouth, sharp, white teeth glittering in the darkness.

On one quick movement, she sunk her fangs into the smooth skin, piercing it. He gasped, and his grip tightened. As his warm, salty blood trickled into her mouth, she moaned in pleasure.

Her heart picked up as his life force flooded her body, filling her with mortal warmth and pure ecstasy. She drank and drank, until no more would come. She pulled away, and crimson trickled down her chin.

"It's a pity," she said to the handsome body she still had pressed against the wall, brown eyes wide and empty. "Such an attractive man. Not to mention a killer kisser. In mortal life, I would have taken you to be a lover,"

"Yet you would not take me," came a deep, rough yet attractive voice that had a Scottish lilt to it. She dropped the bartender's lifeless body and spun around.

"Stalking me?" she spat.

Shaking his long dark hair out of his face, he gave her a vicious smile and a slight bow. "Always, Anna." He looked down at the corpse and raised his eyebrows. "I was always better looking." He commented.

She snorted. "You are the most arrogant, insolent-"

"As much as I simply adore your compliments, I'm not here to socialize."

"Then what do you want?" she snarled, baring her blood stained fangs at him.

He was not fazed.

"That little blonde tart, who you smashingly outdid, is in there telling everyone that you disappeared with him," he said, inclining his head to the deceased bartender. "She is telling everyone what an incredibly dark aura you have about you."

"I see," she said. "Why you think this is any of your concern, I don't know exactly. But I do thank you for the warning."

"You know exactly why it's my concern, Anna." He said softly, his pale eyes glinting in the darkness of the alley. "I've been explaining for years." He paused, hesitant. "I've been apologizing for years."

"Really. You didn't seem so apologetic when you had all those tramps hanging on you in there." She spat at him, clenching her fist, her sharp nails digging into her palms.

He looked away. "You noticed me, then?"

"How could I not? The scent of death, the ridiculously expensive cologne, the smell of your huge ego. It could only be you."

"Yet you stayed."

"My hunger outweighed my hate for you."

"You do not hate me." He said quietly.

"I do. And I have every right to." She paused. "Hate isn't strong enough. Loathe, maybe. I despise you, Adrian."

"Ah, yet you say my name without flinching. I know who you truly despise, and it is not me. You despise yourself, Anna. You cannot keep-"

He was cut off by her hand colliding with the side of his cold, high cheekbone. His head snapped sideways from the force. Though he felt no physical pain, he brought his hand to his cheek and rubbed softly. He looked up to see her gone. She had fled from him yet again.

"Oh, Anna." He whispered into the nothingness.


	3. 1887

**Okay, well I put this chapter off thinking that I might get a few more reviews before I posted this chapter. **

**I guess I was wrong.**

**However, I do like this story myself so I will continue to post it as long as SOME people are reading. I thank those of you that DID review. You guys are AWESOME….but so long as we're on that subject I do, however, want at least five or six reviews before I post chapter four. I feel more inspired to write when I think people actually **_**want**_** me to. **

**Yep. **

**-Autumn**

_**Night's Eyes**_

_**Chapter 3: 1887**_

"Mum," Anna said, wringing her hands nervously. "We need to talk."

"About what, love?" Silvia asked, her eyes scanning one of her student's portfolios. She was an art teacher at the University.

"Well, there's this guy…" Anna said. Silvia laughed, a silky, musical sound, and pushed her shiny black hair out of her youthful, unlined face.

"Boyfriend?" she asked, a knowing, perhaps even condescending, tone in her voice.

"Um, actually," she started, but her mother cut her off.

"I was wondering when it would happen. You're such a pretty girl, Anna. I was hoping you weren't going to waste it."

"No, mum," the phone began to ring, and her mother's head snapped sideways towards the kitchen.

"I better get that,"

Standing up, Silvia stretched quickly, and rushed into the spacious kitchen, where Anna heard her answer, "Hello? Oh, of course! Yes, yes. Mmhmm, One moment," her head popped into the dining room, where Anna sat alone at the end of the long, cherry wood table spacious enough for about twenty people. "We'll talk later, alright, love?"

Forcing a smile, Anna nodded. Understanding she had been dismissed, she stood, and slowly made her way to the winding staircase.

So elaborate; everything and everyone and everywhere in her life was so damn elaborate.

Her skin erupted in goose bumps as a window suddenly opened, letting in an icy gust of wind. She padded across the hall to the open window; she was so high up…

She could see the lights of London around her, she could feel the almost tangible energy surrounding her. It was a blessing, she knew, to be able to grow up the way she had. Walking down the city's vast streets, through the parks, she had seen the poverty and pain that people less fortunate than her held.

Yet she was so high up…it was so easy; she just had to put her foot on the edge, and with so little effort, it would all be over… she could go on to whatever fate had in store for her…so quick, so fast…

Another burst of cold air pushed her back and she could hear the whispers around her.

_Stay where you are._

"Why?" she asked softly. "Why should I?"

"Talking to yourself?" came a harsh voice. She spun around, and let out a breath of relief.

"Adam, you scared me!" she exclaimed. Her fourteen year old brother eyed her carefully, his dark eyes guarded. He looked so much like their father, while she resembled Silvia mostly.

Tall for his age and ruggedly handsome, she knew her brother wasn't nearly as innocent as their parents liked to think. His light golden-brown hair fell into his eyes with a casual elegance, and his jaw was strong. He looked windswept and his fair, prominent cheeks were pink.

His hands were in the pockets of his suede jacket and he stood with his back straight and his head held high; he was arrogant and sure of himself…everything his parents had strived for their children to be.

Annalise, though beautiful, was self conscious and unsure…of just about everything.

"_I_ scared _you_?" Adam repeated. "I'm not the one standing with the bloody window open talking to myself."

She felt her cheeks flush as she pushed the large window closed and locked it.

"I was just thinking aloud…and _I_ didn't open it. It opened by itself." She glanced at the old grandfather clock as it began to chime loudly.

"Whatever," he breathed, and made his way into his room.

"Bastard," she said.

"I heard that!" he called before turning on the radio. Rock drifted into the hall, echoing eerily around the empty space.

With a shudder, Anna made her way into her room; the house was so large, so empty and cold.

Spacious and decorated by her mother, it was fit for a princess. A large bed made with lavender silk sheets and velvet canopy, it was beautiful. Two armoires and her walk in closet were filled with the finest of everything… Giorgio Armani, Chanel, Blahnik, Gucci, Vera Wang, Coach, Prada and Fendi.

God, how she hated them. All the stupid handbags and heels, all the gowns and long, flowy skirts and button-up shirts. Hats and scarves and feminine jewelry.

Then there was her vanity. It was as broad as it was tall, and the mirrors took up an entire wall, lights connected to it, shining down upon the MAC and Estee Lauder makeup her mother supplied. Rows and rows of lipsticks and nail polishes lined the surface.

A large, intricate Persian rug covered the shiny hardwood of her floor.

She hated that damned rug.

She hated the color and the texture of her sheets.

She hated the bright, cheery pastel colors of her wardrobe.

She hated her school uniform, with its tight, white button up blouse and knee-length plaid skirt and her black tie.

Actually, she liked that tie. It was one of the few black items she owned.  
According to her parents, proper young ladies shouldn't wear black. It was morbid and depressing; it was a color that all of the street urchins and skateboard punks wore.

Of course, Adam was aloud to wear it. Nearly all his clothes were a dark color; Silvia said it gave him a mysterious, important aura.

Frustrated, she threw a pillow at her door and sank down onto her bed.  
"Such contempt for someone so young," came a soft whisper. She looked up and gasped.

"What-you." She breathed. "Who are you? Why are you stalking me?"

He raised dark eyebrows at her, and pushed thick, shoulder length hair out of his face. "I do not stalk; I observe." He said finally.

"How did you get in my room?" she asked breathlessly.

He shrugged, and sat on the edge of her bed, folding his pale, long fingered hands in his lap. "I have my ways," he said softly. "Why is it you have not screamed for your mother, who is reading her volume of Edgar Allen Poe for the hundredth time, or for your brother, who is simply across the way? Why have you not picked up the cellular phone in your purse right there?" he asked, nodding his head to her Coach wristlet.

She stared at him, mouth agape. "How-?"

"I told you, I like to observe." His cold, icy blue eyes raked over her, drinking in her appearance. "And you, Miss Bouvier, are as interesting a subject I could find." He spoke slowly, deliberately. His deep voice, a Scottish lilt to it, was simply tantalizing to her ears…

He was strikingly handsome, though in a most morbid way, with his white skin and dark hair and clothes. His eyes were entrancing.

"What is so interesting about me?" she asked.

The corners of his lips twitched, but he did not smile. "You are mature not only in body, but in mind," he said. "You are wise beyond your years; you see past the illusions of grandeur that your ignorant parents have placed in front of you. The way your mind works is fascinating. You do not wish for death like most do…you simply wish for not an escape per say, but for something different, a new life, do you not?"

"I was you who didn't want me to jump." It was not a question; it was a statement.

"Of course. I wouldn't want such a beautiful young woman to waste herself."

She snorted, not caring how un-ladylike it was of her.

"So you claim to just be 'observing'? I wouldn't call following me to and from school, when I shop, when-"

"When you sit on the swings in the park and read. Your favorite is Romeo and Juliet-not the short version. You enjoy reading the actual play. You've read it countless times, and you know it word for word, yet the ending still brings tears to your eyes." He paused, and she saw the smug glint in his steely eyes. "Refer to me as a stalker if you must. I will, however, deny it. I give you your privacy when it's necessary. I do not watch you shower, I do not watch you dress or undress…though I will admit it is extremely tempting."

She pulled her legs up and sat Indian-style on the bed as she regarded him curiously. "Why me, though? And… who are you?"

"I've already told you why. You are a most intriguing young woman." He paused. "My name is Adrian Moore. I was born in 1887 to Sean and Leslie Moore in Stonehaven, Scotland."

Brow furrowed, she shook her head. "It's not possible…that-that would make you-"

"One hundred and ten years old, yes." He said.

"Not possible. You look no older than, perhaps, twenty-five. Maybe, _maybe_ thirty, but no older."

He let out a sharp bark of laughter, and it chilled her to the bone; there was no humor in it. "I was twenty-seven when I suffered my mortal death. It was 1914." He paused, yet did not let her speak. "I was sick; I was deathly ill. My wife tried to help me, yes I said 'wife'. I was married and had three children, two of which have passed on. Both my daughters, Emily and Mary. My son, William, will be next. He is in his mid eighties now, and he is as old and feeble as I think he can stand to be.

"Now, as I was saying. I was horribly ill…my wife, Elizabeth," a spasm of emotion crossed his face. "She did all she could to help me. Three wee bairns to take care of, one whom she still had to nurse, and she still was always by my side. She was a beautiful woman, inside and out. I didn't deserve her."

Anna was listening intently. Did she believe him? She didn't know. What, exactly, was he, if not mortal? The pain in his voice was real; she would and could not deny that. She waited silently for him to continue, but he seemed lost in thought as he stared out the window from his spot on the bed.

He sat so still, unblinking, that had she not known different, he would have looked like a statue carved of marble. The only thing that looked alive on him were his eyes, which, though they did not blink, had emotions dancing within them.

Eventually he shook his head as to clear it. "I must go," he said, standing up.

"What? No, you just began-"

"I shall finish the morbid tale of my life another night," he said, walking to the glass doors that opened to her balcony. He pushed it open silently. "I will come back, don't worry. Now, however, I must take my leave." He looked over his shoulder, and his piercing eyes met hers. "Goodbye, Anna."

"Annalise," she heard her father calling from the stairs. "Adam! I'm home. We're going out to dinner,"

"Goodbye," she whispered. She quickly stood up; they were so high up, surely he wasn't going to jump? Right as she came to the door, she saw his dark figure leap off of the balcony. "No!" she cried, and ran out, looking at the ground beneath her, and all around.

There was nothing there.


	4. Remembering

**Well, here's a new chapter for those of you that are actually reading this. It's not as long as the other's, but the next one will be. I wish you guys would review when you read! Even flames are okay at this point. I really, really want to know what people think of this story. If no one likes it, I'm just gonna take it off. So let me know...REVIEW!!!**

**Tabbitha, you'll get to read it either way. I'm posting this one on my Myspace, too. So don't worry. Oh, and thank you for reviewing. You are the only one. I love you! lol. **

**On with the story...**

**Enjoy!**

**Autumn**

_**Night's Eyes**_

_**Chapter 4: Remembering**_

Darkness.

It was what she craved, what called to her.

It was also what she despised.

The silence rang in her ears as she climbed out from her cold bed. Sometimes she missed the warmth that used to greet her when she woke, but she had become accustomed to it. Everything was cold; her sheets, her skin, her heart. Dark and cold, so cold.

She glanced at the dusty grandfather clock in the hall. It was three quarters past nine. Same as usual. Licking her lips, she made her way down the old winding staircase, a film of dust lining the railing. Her steps were light, making no sound.

It was the times like these that made her miss them.

Closing her eyes, she could hear her mother complaining about not being able to find her favorite pumps, her father humming the Beatles, and she could hear Adam cursing as he dropped the shampoo bottle on his toe in the shower. She could smell bacon and eggs frying downstairs, and she could see the sun shining brightly through the large windows throughout the house.

When she opened her eyes, though, the illusion was gone.

It was sad, how ten years later, she would still try to force herself to believe that they were still here with her, and not lying six feet under, their flesh rotted away, in the West Norwood Cemetery.

Sighing, she continued down the winding steps.

She stopped, mid step; someone was outside. She could her hear the rustling of leaves under human footsteps. Who was trespassing her family's property?

Her hand gripped the railing as she flung herself over. She landed almost soundlessly on the hard marble of the entrance hall. The crunching footsteps were gone. She could no longer sense another presence. She cautiously opened one of the heavy double doors, and felt her face soften at what she found on her doorstep.

She leaned down and picked up the small bouquet and card.

The lilies were beautiful and fragrant. She looked around, but there was no one. Not that she expected there to be…after her ten years of avoiding her neighbors, they knew better than to stick around.

She was a lost cause.

In her unused kitchen, she filled a small crystal vase with water and placed the lilies in it. Lilies had always been her mother's favorite. She leaned against the counter as she opened the card.

_Annalise,_

_We haven't spoken for so long. I respect your need for privacy, and I will not question your solitude. I just want you to know that my doors and heart will always be open. Happy Birthday, Anna. Twenty-six. I remember the day you were born as clearly as the light of day. It's amazing how old you've gotten. I hope you have a good Birthday, dear. _

_Love, _

_Your Godmother, Patricia_

Her birthday.

How could she have forgotten?

She would be twenty-six tomorrow. Or at least she should be.

The thing was, it wasn't the fact that she had forgotten her birthday that bothered her.

It was the tone of Patricia's note. The woman had been so kind, so caring. She has been her mother's best friend, her own godmother. She had never once failed to leave Anna something on a holiday or birthday, even after being ignored for all these years. She remembered Brigit, who was only a few weeks older than her, whom she had loved like a sister when they were children.

She felt remorse for her actions. Not much, but it was there.

Which is how she found herself hiding in the shadows, looking into the Goodfine's living room window, watching Patricia as she stared down at a photo album, tears running down her cheeks.

She looked so old.

Her hair, which used to be a vibrant red, now had not-so-discreet streaks of gray running through it, and her brown eyes, which had always been wide and had sparkled with mischief now looked defeated and sad, wrinkles at the creases of her eyelids.

Anna felt her stomach churn with guilt…she hadn't aged at all. Not physically, anyways.

She had never stopped to look at people she used to know, to see how different they looked. Ten years…was it really that much?

She stood there, silently contemplating it. Yes, she decided. It was. Patricia would be around forty-seven now…oh, god. She's nearly fifty.

Her mother would be almost fifty if she were alive. She couldn't imagine Silvia, cool, sophisticated Silvia as an old woman. It was impossible.

She wished she could comfort her mother's best friend…she couldn't, though. Patricia wouldn't be able to handle it.

Or would she? Surely she would notice how young Anna looked. Surely she couldn't miss that she still had the firm body of a seventeen year old girl, and not the soft, ripening curves of a woman nearly thirty?

How could she not notice the sharpness of her teeth, the danger and evil in her eyes? How would she react when she saw that Anna no longer had her mother's bright, silvery eyes, but instead her eyes were those of a creature of the night?

It was stupid, dangerous, idiotic to even consider it.

Which is why she had no idea why she was knocking softly on Patricia's door. She was about to leave when it cracked open, spilling light onto the porch.

"Anna?" came a shocked whisper. She turned to look into Patricia's large, brown eyes.

"I…" what could she say? "Thank you. For…everything."

Next thing she knew, Patricia's arms were flung around her and the older woman had tears running down her face. She hugged her back, and a sad smile formed on her lips.

"I thought you hated me," Patricia whispered as she let go of Anna. She grasped her hand with both of her own. "I thought you wanted nothing to do with me, all those years…"

Anna felt ashamed.

"I was…Trish, I hated everyone. It wasn't you. I was bitter, and truth be told, I still am. I…I miss them. The house is too quiet." She said softly.

"You don't look bitter, love. You're beautiful. Just like your mother. You've aged just as well as she did." Patricia said, her eyes searching Anna's hungrily. "I know you miss them. I miss them, too. Anna, I grew up with your mother…" she sniffed. "I was the one who introduced your parents. I babysat you and Adam. I loved you all…I still do. Anna, you're not the only one their…their deaths affected. I wish you would have come to me sooner,"

"I couldn't," she paused, and looked away. "I shouldn't have come now. I can't deal with it. It's been years…and it still hurts."

"Of course it hurts, dear, how could it not? You lost your family, and n-"

Anna pulled her hand gently from Patricia's grasp.

"I can't do this, I'm sorry," she said, and she turned and walked away from the closest thing she had to family.

"Anna! Annalise Bouvier!" Patricia called, running to catch up to her goddaughter, a

new coldness in her voice. "Do not turn your back on me, when I have waited patiently for nearly ten years!"

She seized Anna's wrist, and pulled. Anna's silver eye's flickered dangerously in the light from the streetlights. Patricia gasped and dropped her hand. Her eyes…she had not been able to see in the darkness of her front porch…what had happened to them?

Beautiful, yes. Anna was one of the most beautiful women Patricia had ever laid her eyes upon, that much was obvious.

But what was wrong with her eyes?

Those were not the silvery blue eyes Silvia had had. These were almost feline like…they were glowing slightly in the dim light.

Anna was watching her, her face set, looking like it was carved from marble. Her black hair and alabaster skin, with perfect, youthful curves, she looked not much older than she had when her family had passed.

"Why has no one seen you?" Patricia asked suddenly. "Where have you been?"

"I…I work nights," she said softly. "I sleep during the day. I don't like to be bothered, and my hours work out well with that."

"Work nights? Doing what?" she asked sharply.

"Different things. I bartend. I cocktail. Sometimes I model for downtown's stores and clubs. It doesn't sound too great, but it pays well."

"You work in bars." Patricia said flatly.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Why? Your mother was a professor at the university, your father was one of the best lawyers in London, and you had always had such high marks in school! You had money, I know they made sure if anything every happened to them that you and Adam would get everything! I know they had millions in life insurance, Anna! Why didn't you go to college?" she demanded.

"I did online courses for a while," Anna said. "I stopped after a few months. I didn't want to see my mother's old colleagues. I didn't want them trying to include me. I wanted nothing to do with them then, nor do I now."

"What about a boyfriend?" Patricia asked. "We never see or hear cars here. We never see any lights. Don't you socialize, Anna?" she asked. "It's not healthy, what you've been doing!"

Anger flared in Annalise's chest.

"Of course I've had boyfriends! I work in bars and clubs, how could I not meet people and socialize? And who are you to tell me to live my life? You know nothing about me!"

"I helped raise you-"

"You knew me when I was a child! You haven't seen my since I was sixteen!"

"I knew your mother for over thirty years-"

"I am not my mother! I am not Silvia!" Anna shouted.

Patricia fought the tears threatening to fall, and took a deep breath.

"What had happened to you? This is not how you were raised. Why have you ruined yourself? You're pale, and much too thin. Are you stripping at these bars as well? Are you on drugs, Anna? Because if you-"

"Why is this any of your business, Patricia?" she asked, her voice cold. "I came to thank you, to let you know I was okay. I didn't come to have to explain my lifestyle to you."

"You owe me an explanation!" Patricia hissed.

"I owe you nothing," Anna spat, before turning her back once more and walking away. Patricia did not follow her this time.

Both women knew then that Patricia would never follow her again.


	5. A Little More

_**I'm sad. No one reviews except my Tabby. Do you guys want me to just discontinue the story? If no one's reading it, I will. All I ask if for like five reviews. I mean, are you guys just like too lazy or does it just suck ass? Like I said, even flames are welcome at this point, because I just want to know if people are ever bothering with Night's Eyes. Come on. Make me happy. Review! …Autumn xoxox **_

_**Night's Eyes**_

_**Chapter 5**_

"What was it like, in Stonehaven?"

Anna was sitting on her bed, leaning back on her elbows. The night was chilly, but she only wore a camisole and small shorts under her silk robe, which was a deep red. His icy eyes hadn't left her form since he'd come out from the shadows, after she'd switched off the lights. It had been two weeks since their first meeting.

Of course, though they hadn't spoken, she'd seen him.

Only at night.

She'd wake just before dawn to the feeling of eyes on her, and find a single red rose on her pillow. It was both flattering and unnerving. She'd always been such a light sleeper; how could she sleep through him sneaking through her window? Especially since she had an undeniable attraction to him.

"Stonehaven," he said. "Stonehaven. It was cold. The terrain was rugged, uneven. Beautiful. Raw. Barely inhabited. Everyone knew each other. You couldn't keep anything quiet. The people were plain, generic." She raised a brow at this, causing him to smile slightly. "I said the people, in general, were. My mother was the niece of a duke; she was related to royalty. Of course she was beautiful. My father…people always said I looked mostly like him, with my mother's coloring. Though he may have been attractive, I cannot say that I was exactly…fond of him."

"Why not? You should be thanking him for passing his amazingly good looks on to you," she said, smiling. His eyes darkened.

"He was a hideous excuse for a human being. I don't care what he looked like."

"You say I show contempt," she said. There was an uncomfortable pause, and she asked, "Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why did you hate your father?"

"I never hated him…" he looked out the double glass doors leading to her balcony. She could see the light from the waning moon gleaming in his pale, silvery eyes. "I…I believe 'resent' works. I resented him,"

"But why?" she asked. His eyes flickered sideways to her.

"For weeks, you thought me a stalker,"

"I still do," she said quickly, but he ignored her.

"And you nearly jumped out of your skin the first time I spoke to you. Now, you have taken a sudden interest in me."

"Well, it's the winter holidays, and I've nothing better to do, and I suspect you don't, either. I honestly don't care either way."

"Is that why you leave your doors unlocked, and you dress so provocatively? Because you 'don't care', because you don't secretly wonder, because you do not wish me to return to you?"

Shit. He'd caught on.

It must have shown on her face, too, because he laughed. His teeth, sharp, gleamed in the dim lighting.

"He was dishonest," Adrian said.

"What?"

"My father,"

"Oh." She flushed. "Please, continue,"

"As you wish. He was cruel. He knew he was good looking, and he used it to his advantage. He was schooled, and came from a wealthy family. Women, married and whores alike were drawn to him like a fly to honey," a thrill rushed through her as she let herself fall into his rough, lilting voice.

"He'd disappear for days at a time, only to stumble back into the house drunk and smelling of musky perfume and rouge and lipstick smeared on his body and clothes.

My mother was one of the most dignified women I've ever seen.

She held her head high and turned the other cheek. She even continued to pay our maid, whom she'd caught copulating with my father in our stables. It made me sick, the way he'd hold his finger to his lips and wink when I caught him sneaking some harlot into his private study.

My mother never once was disloyal to him. She raised us and taught us to read and write, and when we were old enough, sent us to school. She managed the estates and money, hired and fired help. She was a good mother. She was a good wife. She was everything my father could have wanted, yet never deserved.

The older I got, the more I questioned her. When I asked, though, she simply said, 'Anything is better than to be alone', and I suppose she was right. She had a reputation to keep, and to leave her husband of nearly twenty years with whom she had three children, would make her an outcast. That, and I know she loved him. I listened at my bedroom door to them at night. 'Sean, please. Come to bed,' she'd plead with him. 'It's cold tonight. Warm me up,' and he'd only scoff at her and say, 'I've better things to do with myself, Leslie.' She'd try to seduce him, but he'd push her away, slapping her on occasion. 'Don't act like a whore,' he'd spit at her. 'The last thing I need is you to be with child again,' and he'd leave for hours, returning in a drunken stupor, if at all."

He stayed silent, and she had the distinct feeling he'd never talked about this before. She knew she believed him about his age…but she still didn't know how it was possible. Either he was a…something, or he was a really superb (albeit creepy) actor. She reached out and placed her hand over his, and nearly pulled away.

His skin felt like ice; he felt cold…dead cold.

"I'm…sorry," she said.

"You have nothing to apologize for." He said, taking her small hand in his large, pale one. "Would you like me to continue?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"At seventeen, I was betrothed to one of my schoolmates, a beautiful girl, Elizabeth O'Neill. In school, we had never cared for each other much. She had been a late bloomer, and when the engagement was first announced, my friends laughed at me, and other girls hung on me constantly.

We married the summer before my twentieth birthday, and I had not seen her for nearly a year. She had been to the city to visit family and invite them to the ceremony. I had been with other women, and I groaned as I looked at the calendar the morning I was to be wed. I washed and dressed, my mother smiling at me as she straightened my tie. As I walked into the church, I saw many of the girls I had been seeing with deep scowls etched into their faces. I looked ahead, and nearly lost my footing- Elizabeth was standing with the priest at the end of the isle, and she looked as she had never looked before. She had gained weight in all the right places,"

Anna gave a small laugh.

"Her tangled blonde hair looked clean and had grown, so it fell in long ringlets. She smiled at me nervously, and I told myself I would never know another woman as long as she lived. I would not be like my father, I told myself as we exchanged vows and smiles. When I kissed her, I meant it. She was...amazing…"

"Sounds like you loved her,"

"I did. I promised her that I would never do anything to hurt her. I swore to myself I would never do that to my wife…" he repeated. "But I…I failed, and-" he stopped suddenly, and stood. He slipped silently out the glass doors without a word.

A moment later, her mother stepped in.

"Anna, are you up?" she whispered.

"Yes, mama?" She asked, feigning a sleepy voice. The light in her room flipped on. Silvia was wearing nothing but a towel, beads of water clinging to her pale skin.

"I'm sorry, darling," she said. I have a meeting at six, and I was wondering if I could borrow that Armani suit I just bought you? Mines at the dry cleaners,"

Heart beating rapidly, Anna swallowed and nodded. "What time is it?"

"A quarter after five, love," Silvia said, closing Anna's bedroom door and walking over to one of her armoires. She opened it, and flipped through several articles of clothing before pulling out the two thousand dollar navy skirt and jacket set. "Hmm. Maybe I'll just keep this. I think it's a bit too dark for you, anyways," she said.

The one dark suit she owned. The one she honestly liked. _And you're going to take it for yourself? No! _Anna thought. What she said, though, was, "Of course. It'll probably look better on you, anyways."

"Of course it will," Silvia said, dressing without shame in front of her daughter. "Dark colors look simply horrid on you. I don't know what I was thinking when I bought it." She wrapped her hair in the towel, and proceeded to button up the jacket.

"Mum, you're not planning on going to the university commando, are you?" Anna asked hesitantly. Silvia giggled girlishly.

"No one has to know, do they? And plus, I'm going to Marie's after work." Marie's was an expensive salon/spa, and Silvia went there to get waxed. Everything…her eyebrows, her legs, her arms, her…bikini line.

Silvia hated body hair.

"Do you want to come?" she asked.

"Uh…no thanks," Anna said.

"Dear, it's so much better than shaving there. I mean, you could get nicks,"

_Ew._ "No, mum, that's alright." A guy hadn't even seen her there. Like she would let some strange woman.

"Hmm. Well, if you're sure," Silvia said. She was examining her behind in a large mirror. "This suit looks incredible," she said, then, "Sweet, do you have any thigh highs?"

"Erm…probably, but why don't you go get your own?"

"Oh, sweet, I don't keep those in my closet." Silvia had an entire room dedicated to her purses, shoes, and dresses. "I keep those in daddy and mine's bedroom. In the dresser."

"So, go in there and get them."

"I don't want to wake him. It's his only day off, and he has to take a flight to the States tomorrow." She said, digging unabashedly through Annalise's under-thing drawers.

"Oh? Why?"

"One of his regular clients has been arrested there, and he called your father last night at midnight, hysterical. Daddy feels it should be easy to get him out on bail, and perhaps have a representative from there come here, to London." She reached into the back of the drawer, and pulled out a new box of knee-high pantyhose. "Aha."

She sat down in front of Anna's vanity and pulled them on. Humming, she applied some light mascara and lipstick. She pulled the towel from her hair and shook her head.

"Where's your moose?" she asked.

"In the cabinet, on the right," Anna said. Silvia squirted a generous amount in her hand, and rubbed it into her hair.

"Don't have time to dry it," she explained. "I want to stop and pick up coffee and bagels for everyone." She gave herself the once over one last time and, satisfied, blew Anna a kiss and slipped out the door, shutting it quietly behind her.

Anna jumped out of bed, and, like last time, ran out to her balcony. There was no sign of the mysterious Adrian Moore, but on the edge of the railing sat a lone, red rose.

Smiling, Anna picked up the rose. With slight butterflies in her stomach, she set the rose on her nightstand and went to take a shower.


End file.
